


Cut Here

by RhetoricFemme



Series: Clarity [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Clairvoyant!Marco, High School, I kinda do, Jean plays the guitar, M/M, Marco's got a crush on his best friend, These poor boys, Unrequited Love, bless them, or so it seems, side piece, they're just babies here so who knows, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: Ask Marco Bodt, and he'll tell you telekinesis has nothing on the pressure that accompanies falling in love with your best friend.





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**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, this happened, and I'm not entirely sure how. I'm working on the last chapter (?) to Clarity, and this is stuff that didn't fit in, but I really wanted to include. Thankfully, it just kind of snowballed into a little oneshot of its own!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Years have passed by, still Marco can recall the first time he well and truly heard Jean play. Mainly, it’s on account of it being one of those rare occasions where something inside himself endured a palpable, fundamental change.

Or maybe it was an awakening of his personal composition. At that point Marco wasn’t quite sure.

Either way, of course Jean ended up being his catalyst.

More than a decade after the fact, Marco still knows that particular sting of tears wrought from disbelief and pride welling at the corner of his eyes.

It’s Jean’s mother, Miriam, who is the first to greet him that night. She has one of those bright smiles Marco has come to live for—tired yet sincere as she pushes upward on the sleeves of the thermal she’s layered beneath her nurse’s scrubs. Marco throws an arm around Miriam for a gentle hug before heading toward the stairs, when she mentions that Jean’s been _in it_ half the night, so Marco had better knock loud at the bedroom door.

“So he doesn’t care if you hear him play?”

Miriam shakes her head and smiles. “It’s just the two of us. If you can’t trust your mother, who can you trust?”

Right. Marco nods appreciatively before ascending the stairs. It must be a mother-son thing, he imagines, because while he knows Jean to trust him implicitly, Marco has seldom heard Jean truly play the guitar.

 _One day_ , he hopes.

The previous winter had been kind to the Kirschstein household, seeing to it that Miriam became head nurse of Rose County Hospital’s O.R., and in kind gifting Jean a stereo system of which he’d previously only dreamed before that Christmas.

It’s one of those epic systems with a five-disc rotation and double tape deck just for good measure, with all the bells and whistles required to tailor a song, if one is so inclined.

From the other side of Jean’s bedroom door, Marco can tell Jean has eliminated as much guitar as possible from the equation, though the leftover vocals are hardly the only sound bouncing around the room. Marco recognizes the song, which he likes well enough, though he knows it best as being one of Jean’s faves. It comes as no surprise, then, that Jean has turned down the instrumentals on the disc in favor of his own grittier, live rendition.

Anyone can play a chord, string a series of notes together to form a song. But Jean exudes energy that goes beyond mere practicing, and as Marco leans in awe against the wall he wonders what emotion must be buried inside Jean that allows him to play like _this_.

Marco closes his eyes as the music plays on, and he slides to the floor, deciding to forget all else on the off chance Jean continues to forever play. His wish is granted at least for a few more minutes, and he gets the added bonus of being found by one of the Kirschstein’s legion of cats.

Generally speaking, Marco loves animals, though Jean’s in particular bring calm to his overwrought brain. There’s a considerable lack of judgement and no fault of personal ethics to speak of, what with them being cats and all. Coupled with the fact that these cats are hopelessly doted upon, Marco could hardly ask for better company.

All of a sudden, Jean’s door bursts open just when Marco begins humoring the idea of opening a clinic where telekinetics can recieve pet therapy.

“Marco?”

Light pours out of the threshold, and there stands Jean, ruddy-cheeked and his hairline damp from exerting what Marco can only describe as raw, personal vigor.

_Oh._

“What?!” Startled out of his reverie, Marco imagines he looks rather funny as he clutches onto the cat even tighter.

Under ordinary circumstances, Marco does a standup job of not reading into people and their private musings. Feeling overwhelmed, however, Marco tries desperately to distract himself from instinct, looking for whatever means necessary to not invade on the myriad possibilities of what Jean might be feeling.

Marco’s primary dilemma is avoiding his inclination to read into Jean, though he's now also contending with the troublesome and provocative way he himself is feeling. Mind inundated by teenage hormones and circumstance, the best Marco can come up with is a recent magazine interview where some actor was quoted as saying, “Rock and roll should be angry and sexual.”

Great.

“Gimme that.” He earns a raised eyebrow from Jean, who proceeds to take the cat from Marco’s arms before ushering them inside the room. It’s the first time he can recall Jean’s skin feeling so warm, and it causes a separate heat to flood Marco, as well.

“Look at that.” Jean motions toward Marco with a nod of his head. “Your eyes are already watery. Keep holding onto Binky like that and your allergies are gonna kill you.”

_Breathe, dammit. It’s just Jean! Don’t think, just breathe!_

“But… Binky likes me.”

“Binky doesn’t like anybody.” Jean asserts, all the while nuzzling his obese, irate cat with his nose.

“Well she likes me.”

“Fine, man.” He deposits the cat back into Marco’s lap, before sprawling beside him on the bed. “Death by Binky, then.”

“Trust me, there are worse ways to go.”

At this, Jean throws him a sympathetic look, no doubt noticing the purple beneath Marco's eyes. Looking away, he throws open a textbook and lets the conversation disintegrate right where it is.

Just like that, the music is over. That doesn’t keep that night from ruminating at the center of Marco’s mind. It’s no secret to anyone how touchy Jean is, and Marco doesn’t muster the gumption to bring music up for another week.

It doesn’t prevent him from imagining how Jean might hold a guitar pick between his fingers, though. It certainly doesn’t keep Marco from listening to nothing but Radiohead for all the days in between.

Somewhere in a crowded hallway, in the final minutes before they each diverge toward a different class, Marco sputters out enough words to ask Jean how it feels to listen to and play music. It’s almost selfish, Marco knows, as he’s certain that if he asks for it there’s probably little to nothing Jean would deny him.

It leaves Marco with an entire series of questions he’s always known better than to ever ask, until now.

Jean simply smiles, though; his body listing toward the direction of his next class when he gives Marco an answer.

“It’s like surgery.”

“Heh?”

Blush colors Jean's face, and for a moment Marco is certain he’s about to lose it all to a ticking clock and excuses before Jean goes on.

“Music's like… Anesthetic to numb you when you don’t want to feel, and it’s intubation when you need help trying to breathe.”

“Oh.”

Students begin shoving between them, now, as everyone hustles to make it to the next class. Despite the relentless shuffle and the noise, Marco is unmistaken when he hears Jean shout from down the hall that he’d better have his ass outside the biology lab at quarter-after-three.

Marco wouldn’t dare be anywhere else in the entire world.


End file.
